


Cocktails Chez Device

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Humour, I suppose ;), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Newt bites off more than he can chew when he thinks he can make small-talk with Crowley.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 88





	Cocktails Chez Device

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batfink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batfink/gifts).



Crowley was not the boring one. He was not. Sure, he was lounging with a ridiculous cocktail and watching his husband get into a semantics debate with a witch, but that was because his husband went all sorts of interesting colours as he tried to remember to be polite when he absolutely did not want to be.

And watching an angel try not to curse someone out, all pink-tipped ears and indignant wobble... it was fucking adorable and also slightly wicked and therefore a good use of his time.

But when Newt came over, with a paper plate (did she not trust him with real ones?) and awkward, abashed small talk, he wondered if he could jinx or curse him and go straight to the tequila, or if the two embroiled in eschatological warfare would notice. (He’d only _briefly_ be a real newt. Or maybe convinced he was one, like those Human hypnotists did...)

It became clear that Newt either didn’t read between the lines, or couldn’t colour within them, when he didn’t bugger off and leave Crowley to be cool on his own. 

“...sounds rather like a bad deal, if I’m honest.”

Crowley contemplated showing his true face. Or maybe just sneering.

“I mean. From what he’s saying. And from what - you know - Armageddon and all.”

Did Anathema have a cat? Could he find a cat toy and throw it? Or a laser pointer? Or would the Human’s disaster zone turn it into a tiny explosive?

“If you don’t mind me saying...” a conspiratorial tone, now, but the voice was too loud to be sotto. It was more stage-whisper. “Heaven... kind of seems like it sucks.”

“Yeah,” Crowley answered, at last. “But Aziraphale swallows.”

It turned out that his husband _was_ capable of listening to two conversations at once, considering the very, very cutting **glare**.

Shit. He was in trouble now.

Maybe they’d leave here early after all. 

Oh damn. The Human was choking. With a sigh, he snapped his fingers to help him out. It would put a dampener on the after-party if Aziraphale was mad at him for _manslaughter_. (Probably.)


End file.
